


Taste Every Drop

by uumuu



Series: Our Heaven [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Father/Son Incest, Feanorian OT8, Hedonism, M/M, Multiple Sex Positions, Orgy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Scratching, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Voyeur Fingolfin, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingolfin is let in on something quite out of the ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Every Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> My Holiday Season of Kink fic, written for the kinks orgies, voyeurism, non-impact pain play, begging and hedonism, and a prompt from the lovely amyfortuna.
> 
> Pityafinwë = Amrod (the older)  
> Telufinwë = Amras (the younger)
> 
> In the Our Heaven series, this takes place sometime after A Catch for the Chasing, but can be read on its own.

The back garden of Fëanáro's house was a large semicircle fenced by tall hedges. The door which led into it was almost entirely hidden by a verdant, fragrant curtain of ivy. Ñolofinwë could locate it without much trouble only because Fëanáro himself had told him where he would find it, adding, in a suggestive tone, that he would share with him one of his most closely guarded secrets. 

Ñolofinwë wasn't sure what to expect, but he had only to recall the huskiness of Fëanáro's voice to be filled by burning curiosity all over again, therefore once he stood in front of the door he pushed the ivy to one side, and entered. 

The door, for being not particularly wide, was rather heavy. It creaked open with a loud strident sound and fell shut behind him with a clang when he let go of it, the latch – a pointlessly decorated thing that was undoubtedly Fëanáro's own work – sliding into place to lock it. 

Ñolofinwë looked around. He had rarely been to Fëanáro's house, and never in that particular area of the garden. Beyond the hedges was an orchard, its trees heavy with maturing fruits, the grass among them tall and dotted with sundry wildflowers. Past the trees the garden declined gently towards a leaf-shaped pool, and the slope was punctuated by carefully arranged flower-beds, some in full bloom, some merely blossoming. 

When Ñolofinwë reached the last tree – a plum-tree with a large canopy – he looked down and came to a sudden halt. Blindly, he groped for support, found the tree trunk and put his right hand to the smooth bark, eyes wide as they took in the scene presented to them. 

Below him, to the left of the pool, was a large seat, made of white marble that gave off soft gleams in the light of Telperion, but strewn with colourful, plump cushions of varying sizes. A single lamp was lit at one end of it, casting its brilliance all over the surface of the water, but that hardly held Ñolofinwë's attention. 

In the very middle of the seat Fëanáro was sprawled naked, his raven hair falling freely over his face, partially hiding his features, and down to his chest. His eyes were half-closed, his lips curled up in a beatific smile. His chest heaved placidly to the languid rhythm of the pleasure he was being lavished with. One of the twins knelt on all fours between his legs. Ñolofinwë could tell it was not Maitimo by the fact that his copper hair was curly, but from where he stood he would have been hard pressed to say whether it was the older or the younger: the subtle difference in their hair colour was only discernible close-up. The twin's face was buried in his father's crotch. He didn't seem to be sucking his cock, but his head moved with rapid movements, assuredly, cheerfully. He was, quite obviously, enjoying whatever he was doing.

Ñolofinwë had to suppress a shudder at the notion, assailed by an emotion he couldn't quite place, still too surprised to properly process what his eyes saw. 

There was much more yet to see, for Fëanáro's other sons, save one, were all there too. 

Tyelcormo knelt behind the twin and drove vigorously inside him while his younger brother pleasured their father, his head bowed, his thighs tightening and flexing with every thrust. 

Next to Fëanáro on the seat, almost shoulder to shoulder, Carnistir lounged equally naked and abandoned to the the same pleasure, with Macalaurë tucked between his legs. The paleness of Carnistir's skin was highlighted by the contrast with the darker tint of his father and older brother's skin, and the rich burgundy of the cushions all around him, a visual treat that even in his shock was to Ñolofinwë beguilingly fetching. 

Macalaurë had Carnistir's cock in his mouth. His position didn't look too comfortable: his hair was wound in a tight spiral, around which a string of pearl was coiled, and Carnistir held it in his left hand, yanking on it from time to time, forcing his neck down. His mouth was open wide, and he opened it even wider every time Carnistir pulled him closer to his crotch, forcing his cock deep down his throat. Clearly, Macalaurë wasn't bothered by the rough treatment, didn't care that his mouth would be sore and likely bruised. 

Macalaurë, the best singer of the Ñoldor, took it all eagerly, interspersing sucking with harsh intakes of breath whenever his brother left him enough time for them. Ñolofinwë could distinctly hear them from where he stood, so loud and uncurbed they were. He fancied he could hear the very gurgling sound as Carnistir stuffed his cock inside his brother's throat, a racy wet sound, cloying, almost palpable, that made Ñolofinwë imagine the same delight for himself. He shifted on his feet, his thighs involuntarily rubbing together, and his gaze slid down the bench to the blanket spread out on the grass.

Curufinwë was lying on it, though Ñolofinwë couldn't properly see him, since the other twin was kneeling astride him and riding his cock in utter abandon, his hair flowing down his back like red leaves on autumn branches. 

Maitimo's absence jarred – almost – in that picture of unrestrained indulgence, of shameless sinful debauchery. Ñolofinwë would have liked to believe it was because Maitimo didn't share in his brothers' lechery, but wasn't naïve enough to actually do it.

Carnistir lifted an ornate goblet of gold which stood between him and Fëanáro with his free hand and brought it to his lips. He drank sloppily from it while holding Macalaurë's head squeezed against his crotch, and when Macalaurë hummed around his shaft loud enough for Ñolofinwë to hear he jolted and some of the dark liquid dribbled down his chin and along the length of his throat. Ñolofinwë followed its descent down that pale pale skin, all the more greedily when Carnistir turned towards his father, stretching towards him. Fëanáro licked the overspill of red, languidly trailing his tongue up Carnistir's neck, before covering Carnistir's lips with his own, in a devouring kiss, sharing wine and spit. 

Ñolofinwë's breath hitched and he covered his own mouth with his left hand to stifle a gasp, though it was impossible for Fëanáro and his sons to hear whatever sound he would make, and even if it had been loud enough for them to hear, he doubted they would have remarked on it. 

He doubted they would have paid any attention to anything that wasn't themselves and their pleasure. For a secret it went far beyond anything Ñolofinwë's imagination had conjured, and as shock settled into a mix of revulsion and attraction, he didn't know what to make of it. He was astounded by his brother's brazenness in showing him something so lewd, so outrageous, of his gall in defying the Valar's laws under their very sky. 

And yet, the reason why he was there at all was that he desired his half-brother in ways that weren't exactly proper, either. He would have gladly switched places with one of the twins or with Carnistir, partaken of their wine and of their bodies. But it wasn't the same, his mind protested. Fëanáro and he had never considered themselves brothers, not fully, and besides, the relationship between brothers wasn't the same as that between fathers and sons. There wasn't the same sort of trust, the same sort of reliance. _He_ would never lie with his own sons, or his own father. 

The thought of Finwë brought with it more prickly doubt. If Fëanáro had no qualms lying with his sons, couldn't he do the same with his father? Ñolofinwë cursed under his breath. He lifted his hand from his mouth, and breathed in shakily yet deeply. With the sweet scent of flowers surrounding him, the moans and slicks sounds that filled his ears, the supposition that Finwë might at least know didn't seem too absurd, but Ñolofinwë tried not to let his mind dwell on Fëanáro's morbid attachment to Finwë. 

Carnistir and Fëanáro's kiss broke, though they kept lapping at one another's lips as if they didn't truly want to separate. Carnistir relented his hold on Macalaurë, giving him time to breathe. He muttered something Ñolofinwë couldn't hear, to which Fëanáro nodded and smirked. The next moment Carnistir lowered his head to his father's left nipple and sucked it into his mouth, pulling on it. Fëanáro's chest arched towards him. Carnistir let the nub go only to grasp it with his teeth and toss his head slightly, making Fëanáro gasp and writhe against the twin's face in sweet pain. 

Ñolofinwë bit on his own bottom lip. His left hand slid over his thigh to his own cock – just a touch, just a couple of quick tugs, because his pants were becoming uncomfortable. 

Curufinwë's nails grazed his brother's buttocks as the redhead slammed down on his cock, causing him to throw his head back with a growl. The twin's copper curls swung down, almost absconding Curufinwë's hands, but Ñolofinwë could still make out the bright red welts left by Curufinwë's fingernails. The twin pushed himself up again and let himself fall heavily on his older brother's cock, then he ground his ass down, swinging his hips left and right. 

“Telvo –” moaned Curufinwë, bucking up while his brother still pushed down. His nails painted two more five-fold streaks of red, grazing Telufinwë's already marked buttocks and descending to his splayed thighs, dragging along them. Telufinwë was spurred to rise and fall on his brother's cock even faster, massaging it hard enough for Curufinwë to come.

Telufinwë took Curufinwë's release in full, but once Curufinwë stopped bucking into him, dislodged himself quickly, with marked impatience. He stood up, wobbling a little, his thighs stained with Curufinwë's release as it oozed out of his hole. 

“Father,” he breathlessly entreated. 

Fëanáro lifted his head and nodded to him. He gently pushed Carnistir away from his chest, and Pityafinwë away from his crotch. Both drew back just barely to let him stand up, not at all pleased to let him go. Fëanáro's body, his wide shoulders and muscled chest, looked like a sin unto itself in the pale silver light, his left nipple red and circled by teeth marks, his cock erect and bobbing as he moved. He combed his hair back from his face with a careless gesture, and stepped on the blanket. He got on his hands and knees on it, arching over Curufinwë, flexing his body back – a wanton display. 

It took Ñolofinwë mere instants to understand that Fëanáro not only was quite ready to bottom for his sons, but that it was something he did regularly. The eagerness and ease with which he moved, and the way his sons looked at him made it clear that they expected it as their own prerogative. Fëanáro allowed them to take him, loved them enough to let them take the lead, _trusted_ them enough to. 

Telufinwë knelt behind Fëanáro, and caressed his buttocks and sides. Carnistir hastily forsook Macalaurë's mouth and jumped at the chance of using his father's mouth instead, crumpling to his knees in front of him with a growl. 

Fëanáro was quicker in swallowing Carnistir's cock than Telufinwë was in penetrating him, but it didn't really matter. The three of them fell into perfectly fluid coordination the next moment, Carnistir and Telufinwë slamming into their father and retreating with the same rhythm. 

“Eru –” Ñolofinwë muttered, his eyes greedily following their engorged cocks as they disappeared inside Fëanáro.

He all but leapt off the ground as a hand was laid on his shoulder, a large but gentle hand. Once again he froze, becoming aware at the same time that his own hand had been moving frantically over his cock, and that there was wetness inside his breeches.

“Uncle,” whispered Maitimo's voice, quiet, soothing. Ñolofinwë's hunched shoulders relaxed just barely. He turned. Maitimo stood next to him and smiled at him, looking subtly different than usual. Not because he was dressed only in a pair of airy pants that left very little to the imagination, or because his hair was all tied in a large and very long braid wound around his bare chest. There was a roguish glint in his eyes, a mischievous edge to his smile. He didn't take much after his father in looks, but with that look on his face the resemblance became one of sentiment, if not physical traits. 

“You like this?” he simply said, extending his left arm towards the pool-side. 

Ñolofinwë returned his attention to the scene below him, and for a while he stared – mesmerised – again. A truly, honestly outraged man would have left after taking a single glance at _that_ , at the way Fëanáro rocked between his two sons, arched over a third whose hands were now stroking his cock, at the way he chased Carnistir's cock with his tongue when Carnistir retreated, at the way he pushed back when Telufinwë slammed with bruising force inside him before spending himself inside him with a freeing cry. 

“Isn't it gorgeous?” Maitimo said, as he witnessed his brother's release. 

Ñolofinwë faced him again, at a loss what to reply.

“We take good care of our father,” Maitimo went on, conversationally, lowering his gaze to Ñolofinwë's face, “and he of us. It's not that easy, because we're seven, but he indulges us all, even when each of us wants to have him.”

“...the seven of you?” Ñolofinwë choked out. 

“Of course,” Maitimo said, nodding towards the pool. 

Tyelcormo now lay on the blanket, and was pulling his father over his body, back to chest, positioning him right over his erection. 

Ñolofinwë swallowed thickly. It occurred to him that Fëanáro knew he was there, and may have known exactly where he stood, and _that_ position was purposefully meant to give him the best possible view of his joining with his son, of Tyelcormo's cock easily breaching his loosened hole and slithering into him, and out, and back in again. 

“It is our greatest blessing,” Maitimo mumbled as he came to stand behind Ñolofinwë. He wrapped his arms around him, the bulge in his pants pressing against the small of Ñolofinwë's back. Ñolofinwë tried to arch away from it at first, but Maitimo cupped his groin with both hands, trapping him. 

“You are obviously aroused by it, too.” 

Maitimo's breath poured hot around Ñolofinwë's ear-tip, and he gave a loud yelp, rubbing involuntarily against Maitimo's hands in the front as well as his erection in the back. Fëanáro moved fluidly, his splayed thighs flexing beautifully, but his rhythm broke when Carnistir stood next to him and fed him his cock again. It was a very momentary interruption. Tyelcormo clutched his father's hips tighter, holding him in place, and began to thrust himself. 

Maitimo's hands slid up from Ñolofinwë's crotch and settled on his nipples. His large body seemed to envelop Ñolofinwë. 

“Would you like to join us? I'm quite sure you would enjoy it, a lot. You could experience so much, find a new, a more fulfilling side to our kinship,” he paused, as he noticed, by long experience, that Carnistir was about to come, “...taste every drop.”

“I -” 

Carnistir withdrew from his father's mouth just as he came and sprinkled his seed over the lower half of his face. 

' _I want to do that too_ ', screamed Ñolofinwë's desire. “I-...can't,” he said, breaking free of Maitimo's hold. He whirled around, and stared wide-eyed at his nephew for a moment, then stumbled hurriedly towards the gate. 

Maitimo didn't follow him, but witnessed his retreat with fond amusement: he knew it was only temporary. 

*

When Maitimo reached the pool area, taking his time – Tyelcormo, for all his hastiness, could go on and on when the one he fucked was their father – Fëanáro was lying on his side, eating Carnistir's come off his own face under Carnistir and Tyelcormo's sated, dreamy gazes. Telufinwë, utterly spent, was sprawled with his back to the seat and his twin's head cradled in his lap. Macalaurë was having Curufinwë suck him off, lounging comfortably on the cushions. 

“He was there,” Maitimo said as he kicked off his slippers and stepped onto the blanket, “he didn't even notice I stood next to him most of the time.”

Fëanáro licked his fingers one last time and gave a satisfied smile. He had been sure Ñolofinwë would come. 

“He ran away?”

“That he did,” Maitimo confirmed.

Fëanáro nodded his head. That too he had anticipated. But Ñolofinwë would come back, sooner or later. It was in Ñolofinwë's nature: he couldn't resist temptation. “Come here, my sweet flame,” he said, rolling on his back again, pulling up his knees, thighs open-wide with his well-fucked hole in full view, a trickle of Tyelcormo and Telufinwë's mixed come oozing out of it. “Your brothers are cruel and won't let me reach release.”

Carnistir snickered and gave a couple forceful tugs to his very hard cock, to further tantalise him. “It's what you get for turning our party tonight into a charade.”

Maitimo smiled wide, meeting his brothers' gazes before focusing his attention fully on his father. “If you ask nicely,” he said, and lightly slapped Fëanáro's cock. He himself had been hard for so long, overly stimulated just by watching, he could have come just at the sight of his father's sweat and come-stained body and the heat so close to him.

Macalaurë hummed a dulcet melody as he spilled his seed down Curufinwë's throat, capturing everybody's attention until his voice died down. It was like an invitation to Maitimo to do the same, but Maitimo would hold on. 

He took position between his father's legs and put his cock to his hole, rubbing it against the wet skin of the soft pliant opening, teasing, promising to push in and withdrawing almost at the same moment. 

Fëanáro huffed. “Please, beloved, let me have your big hard cock. Fuck me hard. Unravel me.”

Maitimo wrapped his left hand around the tip of Fëanáro's erection and hugged Fëanáro's right thigh to himself with the other. “If you insist,” he purred, and drove into him.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Darren Hayes's song Insatiable.


End file.
